She returned to the Japanese text.
「当該代理権は、関連する担保契約に基づき、所定の期間中、撤回不能とされる。」
The instrument purports to make that authority irrevocable during the specified period under the related security agreement.
Sterling's face tightened.
“Who is North Quay?”
Nobody answered.
Imani turned toward Julian.
“Would you like to tell him?”
The younger man's eyes hardened.
“Watch yourself.”
The room became silent.
Imani took a breath.
Then said calmly, “North Quay Strategic Partners is a company controlled by your son.”
Walter slowly turned.
“Julian?”
His son's face went pale.
Imani continued.
“If you sign this package without correcting the documents, you may be authorizing a process that gives your son's company control over the voting rights associated with your family's majority interest.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Walter stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.
“WHAT?”
Imani stepped back.
The billionaire looked toward Julian.
“Tell me she's wrong.”
Julian swallowed.
Then forced a laugh.
“Dad, she's a waitress.”
Imani lowered the agreement.
“Yes,” she said.
“I am.”
Then she placed her finger directly beneath the disputed paragraph.
“But the document doesn't change because of my uniform.”
The room fell silent.
Walter looked toward the page.
Then toward the twenty-five thousand dollars.
Then back at Imani.
For the first time that evening, his expression held something other than contempt.
Fear.
But the truly devastating discovery came three minutes later, when an independent Japanese attorney entered the dining suite and asked a question nobody could answer.
“Mr. Sterling, why does the execution package contain a signature from your late wife?”
Imani Carter had been born in Chicago, Illinois, to parents who believed that a good education was one of the few things nobody could take away from a person.
Her father, Malcolm Carter, was a mechanical engineer who worked for an American manufacturing company with international operations.
Her mother, Grace Carter, taught English literature at a public high school.
They weren't wealthy.
But they were comfortable enough to fill their apartment with books, take occasional family trips, and encourage their daughter's unusual interests without worrying that every new activity would destroy the household budget.
When Imani was eight years old, Malcolm received an opportunity to work at a manufacturing facility near Osaka, Japan.
The assignment was supposed to last three years.
It lasted eight.
Imani initially hated the idea.
She loved Chicago.
Her friends.
Her school.
And the small bedroom where she'd covered the walls with drawings of animals, planets, and imagined cities.